Seeing Past the Shell
by CheekyChook384
Summary: Kurt is broken but hides behind a shell so that nobody can see how much he is hurting. Can anyone find the real Kurt? TRIGGER WARNING: self harm and suidical thoughts


A/N This story contain some triggers (Self harm, suicidal thoughts) so please do not read if you are not comfortable with this. Thanks.

I do not own Glee, the characters or the song Defying Gravity from Wicked.

Read and Review! x

Kurt sighed. He was safe again. He was in control. The warm crimson flow trickled down his alabaster skin. It wasn't deep this time, just reiterating what was already there, making sure that it would never disappear.

The raised, angry marks on his arms, chest and thighs were a constant. Kurt could rely on them not to leave, not to change. He could simply press against a pinkish line, to remind himself of their presence. The pain was lessening now but he knew he could control it, make himself hurt again or let it fade away. It was the one part of this life that was his and his only. The one part he could change.

Kurt snapped awake as the bathroom door creaked open and slammed shut. His blood was still dripping onto the grimy white school tiles as the boy padded to the stalls. The adrenaline was fading and in its place panic ensued. He had never done this at school. He had always saved it for the quiet moments where he was totally alone.

Soothing music would be playing gently before he began the process. Kurt was meticulous. He would remove his shirt and carefully hang it up, even in desperate times; he could not bring himself to ruin his clothes. Then retrieve the blade. It was only small, an old fashioned razor with a beautifully carved case, given to him on his sixteenth birthday by his father. He has never used it for its intended purpose. He would then select an area. Were the scars on his thighs fading? Did he not feel pain from his chest anymore? If he was in a state of panic he would run the blade quickly over his arms, he had needed control, now. He couldn't be picky. Then he would watch, calmed by the flow of blood. Without blood he could not live and to see how easy he could let it pour… After the process was finished, he had to be perfect. He cleaned the blade, rewrapped the wound and washed away any trace of his activities before carefully hiding away the razor, deep in his bag. He would be ready again for tomorrow.

But at school somehow, he had stayed together, sometimes only by physically wrapping his arms around his chest as though this would stop him from crumbling in the halls of McKinley. He could hear the other boy moving around in the adjacent stall. He needed to get back to class to avoid suspicion but then he would have to come face to face with the person that ruined his self-control. Kurt sucked in a breath, dabbed the paper onto the wound, stanching the flow. Carefully, he rewrapped the bandage, tightly around his arm and pulled down his shirt, pullover and then replaced his blazer. Placing the blade back, deep within his bag, he sighed before creeping out of the washroom and back to class.

As soon as Kurt stepped out of the bathroom, his demeanour changed. His back straightened, a smile ghosted his lips, he tossed his hair and his eyes hardened. Long gone was the slouch and emotion-filled eyes. He wasn't Kurt anymore; he was McKinley's only openly gay, fashion-conscious, diva. Originally, that was Kurt. This vibrantly, lively person had been Kurt but now it was only the shell, a shell that was getting harder to hold up every day. He pushed open the door of AP Chemistry and took his seat. He was ten minutes late which earned him a hard glare from Mrs Powell. Sighing, he stared down at his notebook, dutifully taking notes, wincing slightly as his cuts rubbed against the rough bandage. He was concentrating on ignoring the throbbing presence of the boy one row behind. The breath of whose Kurt could hear. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Okay, concentrate on his breathing Kurt. Smart move. He could listen to the boy breathe all night. In fact, he had. The boy behind him was Blaine Anderson. Dark, curly hair, almond eyed, tanned skin Blaine Anderson. The boy who has broken his heart.

_Slam. Crunch. Sigh. Kurt was crumpled at the base of his locker but it happened every day, he was used to it. He shouldn't be but he was. But today was different. _

_"Hey, are you alright?" A voice said as he pulled Kurt to his feet. _

_He looked up, to thank who ever had helped him but found he couldn't. His mouth gaped as he took in his rescuer. Unruly ivory curls, held tight by a prison of gel. Dark nutty eyes filled with concern and those lips. Those lips. Kurt began to imagine kissing them, soft, warm, passionate... He sighed. There wasn't a chance._

_"Yes, I'm fine, thank you." Kurt replied, knowing he was worth little of this perfect stranger's time. Kurt had taken in his outfit, pullover, shirt and bow tie. It should have been wrong but it was just somehow, him. Everything he was wearing was perfectly fitted and hints at what lead beneath. Kurt mentally shook himself._

_"Well, at least let me walk you to class." The stranger wound his, surprisingly soft, hand into Kurt and began strolling to class. "My name's Blaine. Yours?"_

_"Kurt." He stuttered. Blaine is holding my hand. In school. In Ohio. This must be a dream. He almost pulled his hand away; surely this stranger knows what people's attitudes here are. But, it is so soft…_

_"…I suppose, it is a little different to Dalton but I'm sure I will get used to it." Blaine chattered. Kurt's eyes widened, he hoped he hadn't been asked any questions. Blaine seemed oblivious to Kurt lack of awareness and continued telling Kurt about himself. I could listen to him all day, Kurt thought._

_"Well, this is where I leave you. Bye Kurt." Blaine finished before continuing down the corridor._

_Kurt nearly didn't go to class that day, he wanted to follow Blaine, ask more about this mysterious stranger but the teacher has seen him. He would find him and speak to him again._

As soon as class was over, Kurt hastily shoved his books into his messenger bag and escaped down the hall. He kept his head down but walked purposely out of the building. He could hear, Mercedes call out to him but he kept striding, knowing she would understand. But he knew that she didn't understand but he so wished that she did. Can no one see me? Can no one see through the shell? He could not break here so he hurriedly strode out the gates towards home.

_"Kurt," Blaine began as they sipped their hot coffees. "I want to know more about you." They were sitting in the Lima Bean, sharing biscotti. Blaine had called after Kurt at lunch that day and had tentatively asked if he wanted to go for coffee. He had blushed and accepted. Now they were sitting opposite each other, in what Kurt kept thinking seemed very much like a date. _

_"Umm, well. I go to McKinley, which you already know. My father is the local mechanic. I am going to New York one day; I am going to be on the stage. Urm, I suppose, well, I am the only out and proud boy in the whole school which get tiring. It's difficult to be on your own. I know it will get better when I leave for college then maybe I can be with someone…" Kurt trailed off realising this probably wasn't what Blaine meant. _

_"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sprung that on you." Kurt apologised._

_"It's fine. But Kurt, I suppose you need to know. I am gay. You're not alone anymore."_

Kurt hissed at the memory. He couldn't understand why he had believed him. He walked up the step of his house and let himself in before heading straight into his bedroom.

He chose Wicked today.

He removed his shirt hastily and went straight to his arm. Cutting, cutting. The blood was flowing. Dripping in torrents, carving the unforgettable into his mortal flesh. Not once did he cut, not twice. He was caught in a stupor of blood and control, blood and control. To an outsider, you would see none, just mindless slashing. Hot tears sprung from his eyes. Salt water burning his wounds, the delirious pain was beautiful.

_"There is a moment, Kurt. There is always a moment when suddenly a light bulb goes on. A moment when you look at someone differently… when your heart expands… when you say to yourself – "oh there you are… I've been looking for you forever." Blaine pressed his lips to Kurt's and the electricity began running. Sparks flew as they kissed. Soft against soft. Kurt brought his hand up to Blaine's face, cupping his cheek. The kiss deepened, breath became scarce. It was as if by magic all the wrongs Kurt had faced vanished. It was as if he could stay there forever and feel this amount of passion, energy and love for eternity. It was as if he had found his other half, his completing piece, his soul mate. It was perfect._

But, the knife wouldn't stop. Kurt didn't care anymore. His life only revolved around cutting and pretending. What was there to live for? A pretence of control. An addiction that was killing him. What was there to stay on this earth for? Burt. His father. I'm sorry, I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry, Dad… Kurt dropped the blade, his arm was awash with blood but beneath it you could make out the ravaged flesh spelling the reason he stopped, the reason he cut, the reason he had once felt love.

"BLAINE".

Kurt swayed the blood pouring from his wounds. He collapsed. Black.

Breath taking. It was the only words that could describe him. His porcelain skin, so clear, almost translucent. The perfectly coiffed hair and those eyes. Those eyes. Striking ice blue, unlike anything Blaine had ever witnessed. But it was all gone now. He had thought that Kurt would feel the same way after he kissed him. As though two parts had finally connected to make a whole. But he had been pushed away. Roughly.

"Blaine, no. We can't do this. I can't do this. Why are you doing this to me? Some sort of sick joke? Fucking about with the gay kid? Blaine, I…I hate you!" Tears were escaping his eyes, he reached out but Kurt jumped back as though stung and tore towards to exit leaving Blaine alone, cold and confused.

That was how he ended up at the Hummel's front door. It was ajar. He slowly pushed it open, calling out. He voice echo back, confirming how empty the house was.

He turned to go. He would try again tomorrow. But he heard the faint noise of music.

_Something has changed within me_

_Something is not the same_

_I'm through with playing by the rules_

_Of someone else's game_

He tentatively padded forwards, into what looked like Kurt's room. It was furnished plainly but you could see the work taken to make the room perfect. Just like the inhabitant. He crept forwards, he was unnerved. Something didn't seem right. Kurt's messenger bag lay askew, a shirt tossed onto the bed, lay crumpled. A strip of gauze was left tattered, trailing towards the bathroom.

"Kurt! Kurt!" Blaine shouted as he turned the corner, confronted with the bloody mess. A pool of red had gathered on the tiles and was slowing drying into Kurt's matted hair. Red hand prints adorned the floor, smudges and marks where he had thrashed littered the walls. The bleeding seemed to come from his arms but marks were deep on his chest too. Was he dead?

"Kurt, listen to me. I am calling an ambulance they will be here soon." A muffled sigh came from Kurt's living corpse. Blaine was confused should he leave him? Should he help? He decided to get a rag and dab at his arm. He soaked up the blood slowly revealing a mass of torn flesh. He gasped. As he swiped away the blood he was faced with his own name, shining up in accusation.

The ambulance seemed to take forever. When they arrived they found a Blaine holding Kurt's head in his lap, whispering that he loved him, no matter what. It wasn't a joke. He had never felt this way before. Kurt was swiftly bundled up and transferred to the ambulance, followed by a shaking Blaine.

Kurt's head felt heavy as he awoke. He was greeted by blinding white walls, floor and bed. Bed. He realised he must be in hospital. A pressure was on his hand; he looked over and saw Blaine. The last person he expected to see.

"Kurt, why didn't you tell me?" Kurt kept his lips sealed he wasn't ready to talk.

"Kurt, I… I love you. I know you don't love me but I want to say, that I am here for you, to protect you and help you through this. The doctors say you will be scared for life but Kurt… I want you to know that I care. I saw past the shell."

Kurt's throat contracted, tears welled up and slid hopeless down his face. Someone knew, someone understood. He felt free, free at last.

"I love you too, Blaine."


End file.
